


every memory adds another piece

by indoissetep



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, spiritassassin, takes place before Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoissetep/pseuds/indoissetep
Summary: Scenes from a lifetime spent together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a joy to write.
> 
> Title comes from Palace, by Hayley Kiyoko.

**I.**

The boy walks along winding halls, kicking at the dirt under his feet, simmering in his own anger.

He’s angry that it had to be him, out of all of his brothers and sisters, to be given away to the Guardians of the Whills.

Angry that he has to leave behind his home, his family, his friends, to come live in this strange place, with its tall echoing chambers, somber-looking monks and way too much praying.

The Guardians keep saying it is the will of the Force that he becomes one of them. But the will of the Force can kiss his ass.

He is angry. And bitter.

So he walks.

Until he crashes into another form that seems to come out of nowhere.

He stumbles, but manages to regain his balance. The other boy, however, much smaller and skinnier than him, is knocked on his ass.

“Watch where you’re going!” Baze spits.

“Forgive me, friend. I was distracted,” the other boy says, meekly but unintimidated.

And then Baze takes in the boy’s eyes, unnaturally blue, unlike any eyes he’s ever seen, and the staff lying next to him on the floor.

_Shit._

He scrambles to help the other boy to his feet, hauls him up by his twig-like arms, and even dusts some of the dirt off his robes, all the while muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”.

The boy seems to find this funny. He smiles wide, and his blue eyes seem to light up.

“It’s alright. I’m fine. I’m Chirrut.”

“Baze,” he says.

“Baze,” the boy repeats.

 

**II.**

Around the thirteenth time they are made to repeat the same part of the sacred scriptures, Baze starts to nod off.

He figures that if he just closes his eyes, just for a moment, the Guardian won’t know. He is all the way on the other side of the room, some twenty children away from them.

He will never know.

He lets his eyes fall closed.

Something jabs him on the knee and he jolts awake.

“He’s coming,” Chirrut whispers next to him, pausing almost imperceptibly in his recitation, then picking it up again.

Baze glances down the line of children and, he’ll be damned, the monk really is coming their way.

He rushes to join the chorus and make it look like he’d been part of it all along.

Once the monk is past the two of them, Baze whispers out of the corner of his mouth:

“How did you know?”

Right as Chirrut closes off his recitation:

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”

 

**III.**

They shouldn’t be there.

If they are caught, they will be made to scrub every step on the temple’s stairs.

But Chirrut wanted to come. So they did.

The entire chamber is lined with crystals of all sizes.

The largest of them all stands in the center, taller than Baze and as clear as water. The skylight above it lets in a bright beam of sunlight, which the crystal spreads around the room as dozens of rainbows.

Chirrut stands in front of the large kyber crystal, eyes closed, breathing deep. He extends one hand to touch the smooth surface, and the many shades of light it reflects glide over his face.

_Beautiful._

“Can you feel it?” Chirrut asks him, “the Force?”

Baze scoffs.

“You know I never do.”

Chirrut nods and seems to consider this for a moment.

“Tell me what you see, then. Describe it to me.”

Baze wants to tell him about the bright specks of dust floating in the sunlight, about the multitude of colors reflected around the room.

But he realizes that Chirrut won’t understand any of that.

“It’s like... Like when you turn your face towards the sun, but you have to close your eyes, so you can still see all these colors...” damnit, he’s not doing so well, “like you’re underwater, but the water is moving, dancing around you like it’s alive. And it’s still bright and hot, but in a good way. It’s... It’s nice.”

He finishes, feeling completely ridiculous.

“Yes,” Chirrut smiles, “that’s what it feels like.”

 

**IV.**

“Something’s wrong,” Chirrut whispers, going suddenly still.

Baze looks around at the crowded courtyard, at the assembled group of men, laughing and enjoying their meal together.

“Nothing’s wrong. Eat your dinner.”

Baze resented them at first. What was the Jedi Council thinking, sending these people to intrude on their lives? The Guardians needed no reinforcements, they were perfectly capable of handling things on their own.

But, with time, he has grown to like them. The clones are his kind of people, practical and realistic.

Meanwhile, Chirrut has become fast friends with the Jedi and her young padawan, talking incessantly about the mysteries of the Force.

_Nothing’s wrong._

But he sees Chirrut’s hand close around his staff, notices the minute tensing of his features.

The Jedi tenses too. She gives her padawan a swift look, then turns her attention to the clones.

They are standing. Each one of them is picking up his blaster. Their expressions have changed from moments ago, determined and oddly blank.

It all happens in a blur.

Chirrut is up and moving. So are the Jedi and her padawan.

Bright blaster bolts fly through the air, the jedi and Chirrut dodge or deflect them as best as they can.

Weaponless, Baze tackles a clone and knocks him out, then another.

It’s no use.

The Jedi takes a shot through the chest trying to shield her padawan.

The girl – she’s so little, so gentle – screams.

Baze thinks he does too.

She falls.

Chirrut, having knocked out four troopers, is surprised by another who smashes an elbow against the back of his head and sends him sprawling.

Baze is between him and the clone’s blaster before he even has time to think.

He stares the trooper dead in the eyes, takes in the scar that cuts through one of his eyebrows.

The two of them had been joking and laughing together not an hour earlier.

He waits for the shot.

It doesn’t come.

“Leave them,” yells the commander , “our mission’s done,”

And just like that, they’re gone.

 

**V.**

Most of the Guardians drift away after that.

The Jedi are no more. The Force has been plunged into darkness.

There is no longer a place or a need in the Galaxy for the Guardians of the Whills.

So the children go back to their families. The adults go in search of new livings. Some of the older ones seem to just wither away.

But Chirrut refuses to leave. And if he is staying, then Baze is too.

They continue on with their duties, guarding the crystals and the scriptures, maintaining the temple, offering shelter to those who seek it.

But one day the Empire comes to knock on their door. It has discovered some new use for the kyber crystals. As of this moment, they are all being confiscated, by order of the Emperor.

Baze wants to fight them, wants to make a stand.

But Chirrut places a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head slowly.

“No, not now. Now is not the time."

This time, they are the ones to leave.

 

**VI.**

“Your hair is getting long, my friend,” Chirrut says behind him, with a hand already tangled in the locks that are almost past Baze’s chin.

Baze cuts himself another slice of his fruit, sticks it in his mouth and grunts his assent around it.

“No one around to tell me what to do with it anymore,” he says, after swallowing. He’d always hated being forced to shave his head.

Chirrut, though, still keeps his hair very short. He seems to prefer it that way. Perhaps for the same reason why he still wears his Guardian robes.

“Well, I think it looks good like this,” says Chirrut.

Baze twists around to see a smirk on the man’s face, just as expected.

“How would you know?” he asks, exasperatedly.

Chirrut laughs, eyes lighting up in that way Baze knows so well.

“Alright. I think it feels good.”

Baze huffs and turns back to focus again on his fruit.

But he does not complain when Chirrut continues to run his fingers through his hair.

He might even lean into the touch a bit.

 

**VII.**

Their home is no more than a tiny room.

Old and dilapidated as the entire city has become in such a short time.

In the cold Jedha nights, it is chilly and drafty, and Baze has to be thankful for how rarely it rains, because when it does they inevitably end up wet.

Their bed is just a mat and blankets on the floor, but it is enough. They have each other for warmth.

When they are curled up together under the covers, Chirrut will map out his body with his fingertips. Hands gliding slowly over every inch of skin, raising goosebumps.

Since the darkness renders him blind too and since he cannot feel the Force like Chirrut, Baze allows his hands and his ears to guide him. It is enough to feel the heat of Chirrut’s body against his and to listen to the sweet sounds he makes.

Later, Chirrut will whisper against the still-warm skin of his neck, “The Force is with us, and we are one.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @capcassianandor if you want to yell about spiritassassin, rebelcaptain or pilotcaptain.


End file.
